nionship that made him the
happiest of men. Even the baron himself was indignant at the arrangement
to saddle him with a _vaurien_ to be reclaimed; but then he was the
minister's son. The king himself had signed the appointment, and there
was no help for it.

'It was indeed with anything but feelings of welcome that they awaited
the coming of the new guest. Even in the short interval between his
appointment and his coming, a hundred rumours reached them of his
numerous scrapes and adventures, his duels, his debts, his gambling, and
his love exploits. All of course were duly magnified. Poor Marguerite
felt as though an imp of Satan was about to pay them a visit, and
Norvins dreaded him with a fear that partook of a presentiment.

'The day came, and the dinner-hour, in respect for the son of the great
man, was delayed twenty minutes in expectation of his coming; and they
went to table at last without him, silent and sad--the baron, annoyed at
the loss of dignity he should sustain by a piece of politeness exercised
without result; the secretary, fretting over the _entrees_ that were
burned; Marguerite and Edward, mourning over happiness never to return.
Suddenly a _caleche_ drove into the court at full gallop, the steps
rattled, and a figure wrapped in a cloak sprang out. Before the first
surprise permitted them to speak, the door of the _salle_ opened, and he
appeared.

'It would, I confess, have been a difficult matter to fix on that
precise character of looks and appearances which might have pleased
all the party. Whatever were the sentiments of others I know not, but
Norvins' wishes would have inclined to see him short and ill-looking,
rude in speech and gesture--in a word, as repulsive as possible. It is
indeed a strange thing--you must have remarked it, I'm certain--that the
disappointment we feel at finding people we desire to like inferior to
our own conceptions of them, is not one-half so great as is our chagrin
at discovering those we are determined to dislike very different from
our preconceived notions, with few or none of the features we were
prepared to find fault with, and, in fact, altogether unlike the bugbear
we had created for ourselves. One would suppose that such a revulsion in
feeling would be pleasurable rather than otherwise. Not so, however; a
sense of our own injustice adds poignancy to our previous prejudice, and
we dislike the object only the more for lowering us in our own esteem.

'Van Hal